Standard disclaimer: If you recognize the character from somewhere else, I don't own it! As someone else so eloquently stated, Harry Potter and all things associated belong to JKR. She has just been nice enough to allow us to build our sand castles on her beach.

This was written as part of an ongoing creative writing class. I currently have a rough outline of the first year, with certain scenes written already. If this finds enough interest, I will continue writing it. (Sometimes I have to wonder if I have discovered HP FanFic after most people have left it behind…)
The intent is adventure/humor with political intrigue thrown in the mix.
I hope you enjoy. Please review either way!

A Very Different Harry Potter

September 1st, 1991

Harry Potter arrived at platform 9 ¾ early that morning and was now sitting on the platform admiring the gorgeous black and red engine and vintage rolling stock. There was a large black pipe sticking up from the front of the engine, like a huge black thumb. It looked like the trains in the old movies, which puffed white clouds from the top as the train barreled down the tracks, smoke which was noticeably lacking as it waited patiently for departure time. Unexpectedly, there was not a soul in sight after he navigated through the wall between platforms. If it were not for unbelievable luck, he would be in the muggle part of the station. (Harry was still not sure he liked that word, "muggle". Surely there was a better choice? Normal? Non-magical? Mundane? Civilian? Surely something better was available!) He had leaned against the wall between platforms 9 and 10 and just fell through, finding platform 9 ¾ entirely by accident. He had planned to perform for the mundanes (Harry rolled that word in his mind. Yes, he liked that word much better than 'muggle') and make a little spending money for the trip. Now he was hesitant to try to go back to the mundane section to perform, for fear he would not be able to get back onto the magical platform.

Sitting there, with time on his hands and nowhere to be, bored out of his mind, Harry looked down to find his friends in his hands again, the juggling balls. Well, they were the closest thing to friends he had ever had. Too much time on his hands always led to thinking too much…

Three summers prior, Harry had watched as the crimson flow from his bloody nose pooled in his hand. Dudley was a monster. No. Dudley was a Freak. Born of Freaks, with the blood of Freaks in his veins. Why else had the Dursleys tried so desperately to appear 'normal'?

That day's lesson in pain had come from Dudley, but his parents were just as responsible, even if they had not thrown the punch. Vernon and Petunia had caused this with years of encouraging his behavior toward Harry, encouraging each escalation of brutality, openly laughing at his pain while chastising him for bleeding on the floor. They had caused this.

That day Dudley's temper had caused the scarlet water of life to leave his body once again, all because Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had taken him to the park a week prior. Of course, Harry had not been allowed to go. Parks were not for "freaks". "Freaks" don't associate with normal people. But Dudley went and while there he saw the street performers including mimes and jugglers. Dudley hated the mimes. They were "freaks". But the jugglers… they were interesting… almost hypnotic. But mostly they were interesting because people had thrown money into the hats in front of them. To Dudley it had seemed like a fortune! And so his scheming mind came to a brilliant conclusion, Harry. Dudley had known there was no way he could ever learn to juggle. It looked like too much work. Yet Harry was used to hard work. Harry would learn to juggle for coins in the park and then Dudley would take his money. The plan was brilliant. Foolproof! Except for one slightly inconvenient hurdle to overcome. Harry didn't know how to juggle.

Every relationship has its problems. (Dudley had heard his dad scream that at his mom once.) So, Dudley had approached Harry with his plan. Dudders used some of his own hard earned money (Okay, he had stolen the money from his mom's purse, but same thing!) and purchased a book on juggling which included three multicolored stuffed leather balls. He then presented the book to Harry and told him to learn to juggle, "Or Else."

Harry had thought this was another of Dudley's stupid, and passing, fancies. Since Harry had no interest in juggling, he had ignored the book, certain Dudley would forget it.

But Dudley had not forgotten. He had visions of Harry as his own personal ATM machine, coughing up money anytime he wanted it. So, a week later Dudley's gang had chased Harry into a corner of the neighbor's yard where Dudley threw three multicolored balls at Harry and demanded he juggle, "Or else." If there had been any doubt what "or else" meant or the seriousness of Dudley's interest in Harry developing this skill, it ended that day.

After Harry was unable to juggle, Dudley had provided incentive to learn. He punched Harry in the nose, giving him a bloody nose and a dawning appreciation of how badly he needed to learn to juggle.

"Oh well", Harry thought, "I survived. I escaped. And hey, now I can juggle." So, he tucked away his juggling balls and dragged his trunk full of school supplies to the last passenger car, occupied the rearmost compartment, stored his trunk in the overhead, and settled in to wait for the train to leave … many hours from now.

While waiting, Harry pulled out three balls with which to practice. He practiced a lot, all the time it seemed. His reflexes made learning easy and picking up new cascades wasn't as bad as some jugglers seemed to think. Harry really liked it when crowds applauded for him. It was the only form of affection he had ever known. It was the proof he was not a "waste of skin" as Uncle Vernon liked to tell him. But Harry had learned quickly, with Dudley's unique brand of incentive, you cannot make money unless you are doing something most people can't do. And you can't make a lot of money unless you are doing something no one else can do. So, he spent his time watching the other jugglers when he could, making sure he could do everything he saw them do. Then he practiced and practiced and practiced. He would start running variations, weaving basic throws and catches into the more complex patterns. In less than a year Harry was creating new patterns so complex the other park jugglers could not steal his tricks. And Harry continued to practice. Juggling had become a meditation exercise for him. The stresses of the world fled from the brightly colored cascading balls.

As he became aware of the surroundings, Harry realized he was juggling six balls now (He always carried at least eight) in a basic fountain, each hand independently juggling three balls with no crossing. He could almost do this in his sleep. After he received his Hogwart's letter, he wondered if his magic was helping him. Most jugglers he knew, could not do this as easily or as long as Harry could. Or maybe it was like another juggler said, Harry had really good reflexes and was young enough to pick up new muscle memory easily. Either way, Harry did it for the best reason possible, he liked it.

Crossing the balls into a cascade, each ball making the rounds of each hand, was easy. Or it would have been until the door opened unexpectedly. Harry's startled reaction caused a bit too much 'umph' in the current toss and hit the intruder directly between the eyes! Harry apologized profusely as he caught and put away the remaining balls. Hitting a member of the audience was absolute taboo! Being startled was never an excuse. There was never any acceptable excuse for that! Harry's face turned crimson as he began apologizing profusely.

Draco Malfoy, scion of House Malfoy, was very confused. He intended to open the compartment and claim it for his own. No sooner had the door opened than he gets hit between the eyes by a bright red ball and accosted by a boy trying desperately to apologize for hitting him. The sight of someone apologizing profusely was not unknown to Draco. He had seen this many times with his father. But he had never been struck. It was rather bewildering in its uniqueness. As Draco attempted to determine how to respond, he touched his forehead where he had been struck. No blood. No swelling. No tenderness. Other than shock value, the object seemed to have left no mark.

Draco decided to take his father's approach, haughty. "Who are you?" with a condescending sneer.

"I am Harry, Harry Potter." Harry held out his hand in greeting.

Draco was confused again, twice in as many minutes. This is the student his father wanted him to befriend, yet he was attacked without cause by the boy. 'What would father do?' Draco wondered. 'Turn it to his advantage, of course!'

Draco smiled and took Harry's hand in greeting, "I am Draco Malfoy. This is my first year at Hogwarts and I am traveling alone. Let me share your compartment and your company for the ride and we will call it even. Acceptable?"

Feeling relieved to get off scot-free, Harry quickly agreed.

Draco left to get his possessions and to tell Crabbe and Goyle to find somewhere else to sit for the train ride. He would meet them again at the Slytherin table, certain they would all be sorted into Slytherin.

Returning to the compartment with Harry, Draco began the conversation. "Let's begin again, a bit less 'energetically'", Draco smiled and extended his hand again. "I am Draco Malfoy of the Ancient House of Malfoy, heir apparent and pureblood. And you are?"

Harry took Draco's hand and holding it firmly, pumped it three times as he had seen on TV, answering, "I am Harry Potter. Just Harry Potter. What does 'pureblood' mean"?

Draco's eyes grew large and he felt his confusion returning, but decided to respond quickly, "Pureblood means your parents were magical, their parents were magical, as were theirs, for as far back as it can be traced. Anything less than three generations of magical ancestry is looked upon with suspicion. Anything more than fifteen generations on at least one side is usually seen as an Ancient House. Thirty generations is considered a Most Ancient House. Claiming anything more than thirty is just bragging."
Harry thought about it. "So, your family is Ancient. So how many generations back can you count? Is it rude to ask that? If so, please ignore the question." Harry stammered toward the end.

"The question is only considered rude among those who are marginal. Otherwise, it is like asking someone how tall they are, a request for a statement of fact. The Malfoys can count sixteen generations of magical individuals as my ancestors, granting us Ancient House status." Draco drew himself up as if reciting a lesson.

Harry being extremely good with numbers, quickly ran the sums in his head, "That is roughly 130,000 people in your lineage, back to 16 generations, the 16th generation comprising roughly 65 thousand people." Harry's eyes brighten as he exclaimed, "Cousin!"

Draco sighed, "Yes, 'cousin'. Your grandmother, Dorea Black, was the sister of my great-grandfather, Pollux Black, making you my second cousin, once removed. As you have obviously inferred, we are all related at some level. In fact, although most pureblood families would deny this on their deathbed, most muggle families who have been in the United Kingdom more than ten generations are probably related to us also. The pureblood families avoid diluting the magic with non-magical pairings, to produce more magically powerful offspring."

Draco stops suddenly, a terrifying thought, an impossible thought manifesting and forcing itself to the fore. Draco began again slowly, "Harry… you should know this. You should know ALL of this. You are the Head of a Most Ancient and Noble House." Draco remains silent, watching Harry.

Harry looks embarrassed as he replies, "I only found out about magic a month ago. I was raised believing my parents died in a car crash because they were drunk."

Draco gets a very bad feeling as he asks, "Who raised you? Whoever raised you should have told you about magic, your birthright, and prepared you for your responsibilities as Head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter."

Harry shook his head angrily, "No. They hated magic and everything to do with it. They tried to "beat the freakiness" out of me. I know almost nothing about magic or the magical world."

Draco sits astonished and with dawning horror. Everyone has been waiting for the return of Harry Potter, the Champion of the Light, the Vanquisher of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Heir (and now Head) of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter, familiar with the politics and traditions of Wizarding Britain. THAT Harry Potter doesn't exist! This is bad, really, REALLY bad! You might as well push Harry down a slide of sandpaper and broken glass into a pool of sharks. His every move will be seen as though he knows exactly what everyone else knows he knows, instead of as a complete novice. Harry will give offense to everyone, unintentionally. Blood feuds might well start. Old alliances would surely fall. This is the very definition of BAD!

"Harry, listen very carefully," Draco said with sudden intensity and obvious concern, "You are in deep trouble. Everyone assumes you know what you are supposed to know. EVERY comment you make, gesture, look, who you talk to, what you say; EVERYTHING is going to be analyzed for hidden meaning. You are the Head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter. You ARE Potter of Potter and everyone will expect you to know it and act like it."

Harry sits stunned. His mind momentarily blanks as the enormity of Draco's words sink in.

"I can't do it. No way. I need to find a dark hole and someone to teach me and not come out for however long it takes to learn this, probably ten years at least!" Harry exclaims.

Draco smirks, "They won't let you do that. If you had magical guardians raising you, you could apply for an exception to attending Hogwarts and be tutored at home. But with muggles raising you…" a look of sincere sympathy meets Harry's gaze, "… there is no chance they will grant that exception."

Draco thinks in silence for a few minutes before coming to a decision, "Harry, I can help you. There is no way to give you the amount of information you should have absorbed over the last ten years, but I can give you enough to fake it and not offend anyone. Do you trust me to help you?"

Harry has a sudden sense of dread, "What is in it for you?"

Draco smiles mischievously, "That is the beginning of what you need to learn! Everyone, and I do mean EVERYONE, is going to have some hidden purpose when they deal with you. Get used to it and get over it. It is just the way it is. What is in it for me? At the very least, you will owe me a very large favor. With luck, you and I can become friends. Best case scenario, we become lifelong friends and allies. And all it costs me is a little of my time and some knowledge that everyone who is anyone already has. For an extremely small cost, I could receive an immense reward. Does that answer your question?" Draco's grin reminds Harry of advertisements of children on Christmas morning, all expectation and delight. Draco continues, "And for a first question, that was excellent. You show promise! Always be suspicious. Always consider everything from all angles. Always try to find the advantage. While this may be a point of personal pride, remember, you are no longer "just you". You are now Potter of Potter. Your actions will be felt by your children, grandchildren, etc. Think of yourself as the headwaters of a river. Everything flows from you. As long as you don't get yourself killed before you have children, of course!" Draco added with a laugh.

Harry ponders, but this is a non-decision. If Draco is lying to him, then this is a great prank and will be brought to light later. If not, Draco is throwing him a lifeline in a sea of political sharks. The chance Draco is telling the truth is more than worth the risk of being thought the fool later if he is not.

Harry sticks out his hand again, thinking he had never shaken anyone's hand this many times, and offered, "Friendship for knowledge. Deal."

Draco smiled, shook the offered hand thinking his father would be proud, and said, "Deal".

After that point, Draco took over the conversation and Harry started his Hogwarts education several hours early.

(So, what do you think? Should I continue? Either way, thank you for your reviews.)
(This is also my first story published on FFN. If I mess it up, I will try to fix it, even if I have to delete and resubmit.)